My sister, Sian (nickname Barney), is twenty-five today.
She’s actually my little sister, and I’m not sure how, but it always seems like it’s the other way around. It’s not always been like that, I think when we were teenagers, there wasn’t this distinction between us and we were just sisters, our lives were very different, very separate (and at one point 170 miles separate), but now it’s sort of in a strange place where she is the older sister. Not the more mature sister, but certainly older somehow. She’s not the only person in my life I have this weird age swap thing with. My friend Mel is the same.
Anyway. She’s actually nearly five months pregnant, so can’t drink any cider today. She’s a very good mum, and won’t even touch any cider while she’s pregnant, but she certainly will talk about it a lot. Talk? I mean moan. There’s a whole list of stuff she can’t have. Seeing as she’s pregnant, I tend to let her moan on about it. You should never mess with a pregnant woman.
To be fair, I do let her moan on about a lot of things even when she’s not pregnant. I don’t mind.
When we were kids, she would remind everyone when her birthday was. You could never her forget Sian’s birthday because she’d start reminding you in June that it was on the 14th. Even if you couldn’t even remember your own birthday, you knew when Sian’s was.
She’s got the memory, so she’ll have to tell you about her birthdays when she was a kid. I don’t remember a lot of my own, let alone any of hers. She remembers a whole lot of stuff that I don’t, and will tend to just come out with it if there is a memory trigger. There was a sausage dog on TV last week, and I said it was cute, and this prompted my sister to remind me that I’d once been bitten by a neighbours sausage dog. I have no recollection of this what so ever, not even now she’s told me the whole story. She had to phone my mum up and ask her if she remembered too (not forgetting to put on a bad accent and try and sell her broadband first – it’s her current joke – I think it’s hilarious). My mum did, I was very upset, but I really don’t remember. It obviously didn’t put me off sausage dogs anyway, cause I still think they’re cute.
We have a good relationship, I think it says something if I can just go round her house, eat her food, watch her TV (but I let her watch the soaps) and make a small amount of mess (I’m not cruel) and she doesn’t mind. At least I don’t think she does. She hasn’t stopped me anyway. For which I am grateful, because she has a lot of tea bags, sky and a very cute son.
Anyway, she’s half way to 50 now (she pointed out that herself on her facebook) and will be catching up on lost cider sometime in November I suspect.
Oh and she’s also the pretty one, look at the pretty. This is a couple of weeks ago, she looks good pregnant, I think. This is why Taylor is so cute. And also why he never shuts up. Like mother like son…